


Discarded Manuscripts

by freesiamoonbeam



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Anyelle, I'd tag everyone but that would take too long, I'm just clearing out my laptop, Incomplete Stories, Multi, Up for Adoption, no need to message me, some are from way back in 2014
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 07:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10894893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freesiamoonbeam/pseuds/freesiamoonbeam
Summary: A collection of all my OUAT drafts and drabbles, most of them unfinished.





	1. Invisible Observer

**Author's Note:**

> My attempt to write an Anyelle story. Set just after Season 4.

She sees a lot, but even she cannot bear the sight of the Dark One hunched over the ground, tears streaming down his face as Belle disappears from his sight. She turns away and sifts through other universes, looking for a happy ending that doesn’t end with her breaking down like Rumplestiltskin just did.

 

She spots a universe whose first scene is a bar, and she is immediately interested. A man who looks remarkably like the Dark One casually tosses a glass over the railing of the rowdy bar, and hits a girl squarely in the face. The other men bellow and show off like angry beasts, but she watches with mild amusement as the lookalike-whose name is Begbie- yells out some choice words about finding the culprit for the ‘glassed lassie’. The scene immediately devolves into a bar fight of no slight magnitude, and she sighs and waves her hand.

 

The scene shifts to another bar. Hmm, this Begbie appears to frequent bars often. He gets up quietly from his stool and walks to the back door, knocking almost tentatively. The door opens, and he slips inside quietly. She takes another glance at the room’s occupants, and follows on. She phases through the door like a ghost, but she pays the phenomenon no mind as her eyes light up on the scene unfolding in front of her.

 

Belle. Or rather, a version of a Belle. A Nurse Belle.

Well, this is interesting.

 

Begbie and this nurse exchange pleasantries: he with his cussing every other word, her with a cool, humoring sort of defiance. Briefly, she feels the strands of this life: words forming themselves on the page, exactly as it plays out. Laying foundations for the reader to notice subtle prods in the story later on. This scene is crucial to the story; a turning point, it seems. She leaves before she could see any  fallout occur, content to just let the words unfurl from a hidden storybook.

She moves on to another universe.

* * *

 

The climate is icy, harsh and unsuitable for life. Hail pelts the snowy ground the size of baseballs, and she frowns as one goes right through her head. There is no feeling, but the sight is rather unsettling. The feeling doesn’t last too long though, and she waves her hand. The scene shifts-and she realizes that she’s underground. The man seems to sense her, and pulls a snarl from his teeth. She winces at the sight of his bloody teeth, but pays more attention to the carcass of a burly man, half-eaten by-

 

Oh. Oh, isn’t this interesting. The man curls up nearer to the woman nibbling on a bit of the burly man’s arm.

 

She takes one glance at the scroll of this life, laughs heartily, and moves on.

No sad endings for this world, it seems.

* * *

 

The world she appears next, she is genuinely confused. Her body is half-submerged in water, and she looks at the two people on top of the floating car. A canal, it seems. Sewage, and she reappears on the sidewalk. She watches as the two people topple in the water, and smothers a laugh. The scene changes to a backstage, and she is taken aback by the sight of a Mr. Gold.

 

Wait, no. This is not Mr. Gold. This is Gaz, she reads the name out loud from the scroll.

A stripper. Interesting.

 


	2. The Author

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set way back when nobody knew who or what the Author is. Speculation was abundant. I never got around to actually continuing this story...

 “Oh good, you’re all here.”

 

The Author’s voice rang in the middle of the growing volume of the voices, and they instantly hushed like children about to be scolded. He scanned the room with amused but threatening eyes, lingering briefly at the raised hackles of the Dark One and his wife. The Dark One looked furious enough to start throwing spells at the nearby matter, but the Author knew him well enough to know the beneath the bark lies the fear and resentment, bubbling near the surface. A breaking point is imminent.

 

Of course the Author knew him. He wrote his story, after all.

He scanned the crowd before him and resisted the urge to laugh. Fools, the lot of them, it was so easy to manipulate people…

 

“So, what a wonderful group we have here.” He mocked and sent all the papers and quills strewn about the room to where he came from. The stunned expression on some of his newest visitors delighted him and he called out.

 

“You all wanted to change what?” he challenged, leaning back on a brightly colored armchair. “The past?” The Author looked pointedly at the Charmings, and their gazes faltered, especially the bandit princess.

 

“Your destiny?” he then shifted his gaze to the Queen, and while she met his gaze unflinchingly, he allowed himself a moment of satisfaction from seeing the brief flash of uncertainty in her eyes.

 

“Or the inherent darkness in you?” The Author didn’t look at the Dark One, instead, he turned his cold eyes into the wife’s blue irises and watched as she flinched and tried to avert her stare.

 

The Saviour stepped forward, a hand on her gun. “No, we want to-“

 

“Save it. I have no need for your complaints or sudden changes of the mind.” The Author cut her off with a flippant wave of the hand. The Saviour looked surprised and a little offended at the motion, but he didn’t dwell on it further as he stepped closer to the ragtag team in front of him.

 

“You are looking for me. Maybe to change something in your lives. Maybe to give you a happy ending. Is that it? Well, of course-“ he abruptly twisted on his heel  and went back to the armchair, effectively cutting off any remarks, “I could. But I won’t.”

 

“Why not?” The Queen snapped.

 

“All magic comes with a price, my dear.” The Author taunted in silky-sweet voice, waving an aimless hand in the air.

 

“Haven’t we paid enough?” muttered the Dark One bitterly, and at this the Author fully chuckled.

 

“Considering that I wrote your story and gave you exactly what you wished for, I highly doubt you should be that ungrateful-“

 

“I LOST MY SON!” The Dark One roared, but the Author merely met his furious gaze head-on.

 

“Did you really?”

 

Silence descended in the room as the Dark One’s mouth dropped open in shock. The Author sighed and shifted his gaze to look calmly at the Queen.

“A happy ending, you say?”

 

“What’s the price?” she practically spat, her fists clenching. The Author regarded her calmly.

 

“Now that’s an interesting question.” He grinned, and spread his arms in a shrugging motion. He turned to the Charmings.

 

“To repair the misdeeds of the past…I take it? Not that you believe there is much to change anyway. You are quite comfortable where you are, are you?”

 

“W-well-“the princess stammered, and the couple looked at each other with trepidation. The Author didn’t wait for a reply, he just snapped his fingers.

 

“Contrary to popular belief, I don’t write the stories. I merely record them. Do you really think I wrote you so that you’d come looking for me? Because that would mean I orchestrated everything. And yes, it does look that way, doesn’t it? I wrote it so that you’d find me. I wrote it so that you all have endings you weren’t content with. I see. Is this my entire fault? The answer: no.”

 

He paused for effect before continuing.

“I just do the recording. I write down the stories, every variation, every decision made, every question left unanswered. What is my point here? The point is that you made your own story. You made the decisions. You are responsible for your own unhappy ending. Not me. YOU.”

 

“I…don’t believe that.” Emma stated.

 

“Oh?”

 

“As a matter of fact, I don’t, either.” The Dark One hadn’t quite recovered yet-there was a rage being stoked in his eyes that promised hellfire and brimstone on the unlucky person. The Author nodded.

 

“Ah. I cannot possibly write so many stories down at once, is that it?” No, that wasn’t it, and he knew it, but it was the question burning in the eyes of the wife and the shepherd prince.

 

“Well, of course not. I have magic, you know. And am I to assume that you raided an outpost of mine? You seem to hold some of the stories from other worlds. They are not yours, no matter how you wish it so.”

 

“Wait. Author, can’t you at least help us-them? Do something, anything-“

 

“I can, didn’t I already say that before?” The Author snapped irritably. “But all magic comes at a price, and are you so sure you want to pay that particular price?”

 

Silence only lasted for a second before the wife spoke up.

“What’s the price?”

 

The Author straightened and looked at the wife-Snow- head on.

 

“Are you sure you want to know?”

 

Snow White visibly tried to steel herself.

“Yes.”

 

The Author regarded her with a sort of curiosity a collector may regard his collection, and then snapped his fingers. A book sailed out of the room he came from and floated in front of the Author. He opened it and trailed a hand over the written text.

 

“This book- “he announced, “Is the book where all of you get your happy endings, in a sense. Very few regrets, no lives lost apart from the necessary ones. Oh, I forgot to tell you, Baelfire isn’t supposed to die in this world, at least not before meeting his little sister. Or was it sisters? Hmmm, all these stories always get mixed up in my head…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually, my whole plan used to be the gang (Regina, Emma, Rumple, etc.) would go into that "happy ending" universe-and encounter more than just their happy endings. For example, nobody expected that they would end up in the future...


	3. Calligraphy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Partially inspired by my own skill in calligraphy and word art.

She was fourteen when she discovered her talent at word styling.

 

Honestly, she wasn’t sure whether the proper term was that. She sometimes called it calligraphy, or scripting, but the point is that she knew how to write words in such a way that it looks beautiful, almost printed.

 

Belle knew that’s exactly where her problem lay. In a world ruled by technology, no one would appreciate such a mediocre skill like word styling. She loved twirling her pen around, making fancy swirls out of normal words. It all started with a lesson in her grade school years. One of the art teachers from the higher levels decided to teach them basic calligraphy to pass the time when their teacher was absent. It was quite easy, and she picked up on it quickly, but dismissed the skill as nothing more than a passing fancy, until the day they decide to move to America.

 

She had been looking through her old papers, and stumbled upon her old notes. On a whim, she decided to replicate the letters again and again until she could style words without looking at the individual letter guides. Then she took the notes to class to practice further, and her classmates noticed. It wasn’t much of a skill, but it impressed some of her friends. But somehow, in between moving from Australia to America, the knowledge that she can style letters and words like that faded to the background.

 

Belle reclaimed the skill in college, when she was taking up a course on Library Science. This time, she paid special effort into researching different fonts and script styles and can now whip up a nice heading for, well, anything really, a Get-Well card, a poster, a title page, and more. But she didn’t flaunt her skill, and there really wasn’t any reason to. She mostly just used it on the days that she didn’t have anything else to do.

 

And for styling the name of her landlord.

 

Belle came to that stunning realization in the middle of shading the outer edges of the word “Gold” and that was followed by the horrific realization that she had been styling his last name (see, she didn’t even know his first name!) all over the last three blank pages on the Circulation Desk.

Oops.

 

She quickly snatched up an empty folder and practically shoved the papers inside, snapping it close and placing it under her purse to take home later. The folder was one of the many folders that came from the mayor, subtly reminding her that the budget for the library this year is going to be halved again. As if Belle didn’t know that already, having attended the meeting herself.

 

Light filtered in the doorway, and Belle looked up to see the man himself come in. Immediately, she looked down and pretended to be engrossed in her nonexistent work.

 

“Miss French?”

 

Belle pretended to be surprised. “Good afternoon, Mr. Gold!”

 

“You’re in a rather cheerful mood today, aren’t you?”

 

“Well you see, I barely have anything to do. Slow day, I suppose.” Belle tried, really. But the grin kept slipping on her face and she was sure she looked utterly ridiculous.

 

“Indeed,” Mr. Gold nodded, and then held up the library’s copy of The Prey with his library card.

 

“Oh! Gimme a minute. Finished already?” Belle asked, opening the library catalog on her computer.

 

“Would I be returning this to you if I wasn’t, Miss French?”

 

“Yeah. Makes sense, I guess.” Belle hastily reached for the book, and he handed it over gingerly, leaning over the counter to see the computer better. Belle flipped to the back and inputted the numbers in the computer, then swiped the library card over the scanner. A ‘ping’ resounded through the library, and she handed the card back to its owner.

 

“Are you going to borrow anything else?” She asked, not looking up from the computer.

 

The silence that greeted her question made her look up, and caught Mr. Gold in the act of opening his mouth. He immediately closed it upon seeing her inquisitive gaze.

 

“…Nothing, dearie. Have a good day.” He swiftly turned around and exited the library, his cane’s tapping fading as he walked away. Belle followed his shady figure outside the door, then sighed and withdrew a duster from underneath the desk. She stood up, stretched her back a little, and went to tackle the thin dust layer on the books just to have something to do.

 

She didn’t notice that the folder under her purse was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want Belle to have a gold glitter pen. ASAP.


	4. Goo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My very first OUAT draft. Rather OOC. At the time, I honestly thought that this would be flippin' hilarious.

Looking back, Rumplestiltskin supposed that he may have screwed up a bit. Just a bit. A teeny, tiny bit.

 

Ok, let’s face it, a lot. He screwed up big time.

 

Which is why he was now crawling in the middle of the Enchanted Forest as a pile of goo.

 

It supposed to be a simple deal. The croaking warlock needed a rare seaflower, and his offered price was a jar of indeterminable material that was slimy, and apparently magical enough to even render the Dark One powerless, if not kill him outright. It was squid ink, he had said, mixed with something else he can’t remember and brewed in a volcano, said to transform any living material into that exact material. Good for getting rid of intruders – turning them into black mush.

 

And it’s apparently irreversible. No cure. Yet.

Damn it all.

 

Rumplestiltskin cursed, but the lack of a mouth and vocal chords made it quite impossible, so he settled for running a string of curses in his brain, enough to make an old sea dog blush.

 

The jar was the only thing that can contain it, being made out of heated squid ink and ground asphodel root. And since the goo was made out of squid ink, well, he was stuck there on the forest floor, magicless, powerless, and dragging his gooey body like a, well, living goo.

 

The fates must be laughing their heads off.

 

He can still see, but the how still eluded him. It wasn’t the usual heightened sight of the Dark One, but somewhat dark and murky, tainting everything with a gray hue. Rumplestiltskin spotted the jar turned on one side, amidst the pile of dragonskin and silks that were his clothes. He made his body move like a worm, the liquid pouring over the front from the back.

 

The great Dark One reduced to a pile of goo!

 

He only wanted to test it. A single drop on a blade of grass. He did not expect the mass of goo lunging out once he opened the jar, splattering him in the face. A flash later, and he awoke to being a boneless idiot.

 

It was only a little walk to the edge of his castle. If he had two legs, that is.

Rumplestiltskin gritted his nonexistent teeth and started pitifully crawling towards the opening arch that is the boundary of his grounds. He could only hope Belle wasn’t anywhere near the entrance or the dining area; this is humiliating enough without the shrill screaming of his maid. He looked back at the pile of clothing on the forest floor. It would be a dear shame if he left this; someone will stumble upon it and lay claim to it, or recognize it as the clothing of the Dark One and spread rumors about his apparent death. Neither option was favorable, but he had to get into the safety of his castle by nightfall.

 

So with more silent curses and seething, Rumplestiltskin, the Dark One, crawled to to the menacing castle that was his home.

* * *

 

Belle looked up at the night sky and sighed. It seems that he was not going to be home anytime soon. She closed the curtains and gave the hall a long, appraising look. Everything seems to be in place. The items were polished and shined, the spinning wheel dusted, the curtains arranged properly, and the table was devoid of anything save for one tea tray and its contents.

 

She placed the duster on the table and picked up her teacup. After hours of waiting, the tea she had brewed for her master had long gone cold, and hers was emptied long before that. Her teacup still had dredges of tea leaves stuck at the bottom of the cup. Belle blinked as the leaves seemingly rearranged themselves to form…a shapeless blob.

 

Belle sighed and shook her head, chastising herself for giving in to old superstitions of her homeland. She put the cup on the tray and carried it to the kitchen, not noticing a black slime-like substance enter the cracks of the main door.

 


	5. Collapse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shield that once stood between Storybrooke and the rest of the Land-Without-Magic somehow faded. Mr. Gold dares to venture out, and is shocked when many voices call his name out loud. 
> 
> Or:
> 
> My pitiful attempt at writing crack.

Three years after the whole Pan and Zelena incident, and there has been another major dilemma. Mr. Gold sighed and fixed the sign at his pawnshop to CLOSED, and hurried to his Cadillac. Belle and the Charmings are already at the town line, so he simply fixed his late son’s ball on the passenger seat of the car and drove away.

 

The shield that hid Storybrooke from the rest of the world has faded, it seems. It’s still there, but the raw power that held it like layers of metals is simply, gone. They only knew of the fading when two hitchhikers entered and bought take-out from Granny’s, immediately sending the whole town in a state of alert. Mr. Gold had their memories wiped and sent away, then sent Emma to check on the shield herself.

 

Regina had made it very clear that she and that outlaw are not to be disturbed on the anniversary of their wedding, and the Charmings had approached his wife. And who was he to deny his wife anything, anyway?

 

Mr. Gold parked the car just behind the pick-up truck of the Charmings, curling his mouth slightly in distaste. They ran the town anyway; couldn’t they afford a classier vehicle?

Oh right, HE runs the town, not them. They just like to be the front.

 

Belle met him with a passionate kiss that promised wicked things later, and he savored it like any red-blooded male. When they broke away, his Belle was delightfully flushed, and he gently caressed the small bump of her stomach.

 

“Hello, sweetheart. What seems to be the problem here?” he murmured, leaning into his wife. Behind them, Emma looked uncomfortably at her parents.

 

“Maybe you should ask Emma,” Belle suggested and broke away from his hug. Mr. Gold immediately missed the vanilla scent of his wife and glared at the blonde sheriff. Emma threw her hands up.

 

“Woah there. Look, I’m sorry for bo-“

 

“Save it, Sherriff. What is it?” he snapped, pulling Belle back into his arms again. She didn’t protest and instead leaned on him, which did wonders to his prickly demeanor.

 

“The barrier.” Emma jerked her head in the direction of the town border and stepped back.

 

“It’s weak and probably not going to hold up any longer. And we can’t have that.” David spoke up from where he was standing with his wife.

 

“Indeed.”

 

“Can you fix it?” Snow perked up.

 

Mr. Gold mentally prayed for any remaining shreds of patience he had. “Of course, dearie. But all magic comes with a price!”

 

The Charmings all groaned in unison, and Belle lightly smacked his chest. “Rumple…”

 

“Can’t you just waive that price for once?”

 

“No, you can’t.” Surprisingly, it was Emma who spoke up. Perhaps all those lessons with him and Regina had finally driven the point in her skull. “A favor?”

 

Mr. Gold sighed again. “Fine,” he gritted out. “But I need to see the extent of the damage.”

 

Snow shrugged and pulled her trenchcoat closer. “If it helps, I went through the border earlier and I didn’t lose my memories nor regress back into Mary Margaret.”

 

He tensed at the mention of lost memories and a calming hand on his shoulder broke his trip to Regrets Land. Belle looked at him with such hope, and he had no power to resist her.

“That’s not the shield. That’s the curse itself. Wait here sweetheart.” Mr. Gold kissed his wife’s forehead and walked briskly to the town line. The orange line mocked him and he glanced back to see Belle looking at him with a mix of fear and love. His hand strayed to his pocket and felt the teacup chip that he kept in case the barrier still works. Despite three years of co-habitation in the small town, he still doesn’t fully trust the Charmings.

 

He took a single step over the line.

 

Then another.

 

The shield rippled.

 

Well, he’s still Rumplestiltskin, that’s for sure. He looked back and nodded at them to signal that he still remembers.

 

“Rumplestiltskin.”

 

What?

 

It was female voice, full of childish glee. His ears perked up.

 

“To Rumplestiltskin, I suppose I-“the rest of the sentence faded away. This time, it was a young male’s voice, full of annoyance.

 

“-love Rumplestiltskin, ‘cause-“a hoarse female voice with a lower register rumbled through. His eyes widened as he realized the problem.

 

Apparently, in a Land-Without-Magic, you can still summon the Dark One by using his name.

 

But the story of Rumplestiltskin in this world is rare and only some people ever knew the full tale in this world. Still, to be called as the Deal-Maker rather than the cheap imp version of this world, well, someone obviously knew him well. And spread the information rather eagerly.

 

“Rumplestiltskin!” someone yelled out in an extremely high-pitched tone. He cringed.

* * *

 

Inside the barrier, Belle frowned as her True Love and husband looked around and occasionally cringed as if listening to something. She’d seen the nod, but that didn’t do anything to calm her rapidly rising panic. Emma placed a placating hand on her shoulder.

 

“You might wanna sit down, Belle.” She conjured a small plush chair in the middle of the street. Belle sank into it gratefully.

 

“Thank you. What’s going on?”

 

“…I have no idea, but he remembers us, so I suppose he’s checking the barrier already.”

 

Belle glanced back and shook her head.

 

“I don’t think so.” She replied, calling out.

“Rumple?”

 

He didn’t seem to have heard her, so she raised her voice and called out again. This time though, he looked back with a slightly terrified expression and hastily went back until he reached the town line. Belle stood up and began walking briskly towards him, as did the rest of the Charmings.

 

“What happened?” Emma asked the moment he stepped back in.

 

Rumplestiltskin stared at her.

 

“I have no idea,” he muttered.


End file.
